


Intertwined

by Varricmancer



Series: Children Of Mara [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Character is not the dragonborn, Cooking, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Farkas is a soft boy, Knitting, MGIS, Mara - Freeform, Modern Character in Skyrim, Modern Girl in Skyrim, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Werewolves, future smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:07:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varricmancer/pseuds/Varricmancer
Summary: A child of Mara was a soul blessed and bound to it's mate for all eternity. Elizabeth Williams is summoned to Mara as a lost soul, only she's from modern America and her mate is somewhere in the wilds of Skyrim.
Relationships: Farkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Character(s), Farkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s), Male Dunmer Dovahkin/Original Female Character, Original Female Character & Original Male Character
Series: Children Of Mara [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1659616
Comments: 25
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know I have other works that need to be finished, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head. So here we go. I'll probably change the summary eventually, because right now it sounds cringy and childish, but I really wanted to get this out. 
> 
> I LOVE Elder scrolls and I've been playing the games since I was little, reading everything I could get my hands on, play ESO regularly even. I'm not saying I'm an expert, because I am SO not ( I have a horrible memory ), but I'm saying that I'll try not to mess up the world too much. If there are things that I can't figure out in ES lore, I'll probably fill it in with Norse lore so be warned ahead of time. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story. I LOVE Farkas and I wanted to start my first venture into writing ES with him. In my head this is going to be a huge series with different couples as soulmates. Vilkas is going to get his story after I finish this one ;)

When she had gone to bed that night, nothing about her day had been different from any other. 

She’d come home from her shift at the restaurant where she’d been working for ten years feeling like her back and feet were going to fall off. She’d taken a long soak in the tub as she thought about her job and how much of a dick her boss was for not giving her the raise he’d promised - _or_ the interview for the sous chef position. She’d bet her life savings he was going to offer it to the incredibly annoying fake blonde Commis Chef they’d hired just last year, only because she kissed his ass and sent him flirty smiles all the time. Probably more, who knows.

After her bath she’d eaten a fast and easy dinner of kimchi fried rice using leftover rice and bacon, with _two_ whole eggs because she deserved it.

Then she’d gone to bed with some crime show on in the background that she hadn’t even paid attention to and had fallen asleep quickly due to exhaustion. She'd been too tired to even think about playing one of her games.

 _And now_ \- now she was currently experiencing one of the weirdest dreams she’d ever had in her life. Maybe it was her mind trying to cope with stress or just the result of eating bacon before bed.

It wasn’t so much the setting that was odd. It was actually really pleasant. A vast meadow filled with plants and wonderful smelling flowers that she’d never seen before. Butterflies flit through the air around her and all the colors were so vividly amped up they were practically glowing. Little creatures that she didn’t recognize would often peer around a bush or run along her path, watching her curiously. How odd that none of them seemed very afraid.

She followed a little stone pathway, simply strolling along as she admired her surroundings. When she’d read The Secret Garden as a girl, she’d often pictured a place like this. Calm and beautiful. Of course, she’d always added elaborate stone kitchens because even in her imagination she had to be cooking something.

Suddenly, strange balls of golden light began to appear and float around her. But somehow, she wasn’t worried or afraid. They felt...famililar, almost.

“You have finally arrived. Welcome, Elizabeth.”

She turned towards the voice, finding a strange-looking but strikingly beautiful woman standing near a large statue. She almost looked like someone cosplaying or attending a ren fair with her medieval clothes. She kind of reminded her of an older version of the Princess from Braveheart, actually. She was smiling down at her in an almost motherly fashion and Elizabeth thought for a moment that she should find it weird how tall the woman seemed to be. Nearly nine feet at least. That was weird, right? And was she...glowing?

“Where am I?”

“In my home. I am Mara and I called you here to correct a wrong.”

The only Mara she knew was from a video game. “A wrong?”

The woman gestured towards the golden orbs that continued flying around them both slowly like they were happy to be in her presence.

“These are the souls of my children waiting for their turn to return to their beloved. While many decide to simply live one lifetime and then rest their souls in the realm of their choosing, there many still that are bonded to another and choose to live again with each other.”

“Soulmates. Yeah, I’ve heard the concept in fanfics and cheesy television. What does that have to do with me?” Elizabeth rolled her eyes, playing along somewhat. Of course, if this had been real she would probably be scared off her ass right now, but since this was a dream she could be as sassy as she wanted.

The woman merely folded her hands together and graced her with a patient smile, making her feel like as ass.

“You are one of those bonded souls. However, I believe that either someone disrupted your cycle or stole you from me completely, because you were not only in the wrong timeline but in the wrong realm as well.”

Elizabeth’s heart ached with longing. A soulmate... _for her_?

Even her dreams mocked how lonely she was.

The woman turned and waved her hand and suddenly a big orange...thingy...appeared. Kinda looked like a certain eye. Her dream was pulling out all the stops today, huh? She hadn’t even watched Lord Of The Rings in years. She guessed it also kinda looked like an Oblivion gate from her Elder Scrolls games.

“I have opened the door for you to return to your mate. I am sorry that it took so long. You must have been lonely.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly, thinking back on all of her wasted years with the wrong people. On her mom. On her brother that she couldn’t find.

“Yeah.”

Somehow the woman suddenly seemed to become smaller, although still towering over her. She leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Elizabeth’s forehead before guiding her gently towards the door. It looked more like a gate to hell than something that would lead to anything good.

“Go forth, child of Mara, and be reunited with your love.”

Elizabeth Williams exhaled shakily and stepped through the blazing door before she realized the woman had never even told her how to find her soulmate or what his name was.

Good thing this was only a dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note - Don't worry! I don't plan on rehashing the script the entire time. This part was just essential so that Elizabeth recognizes where she is and what's going on.

**  
  
  
  
  
**

She’d gone to college so she’s woken up to some horrible things before - puke in the bed, strange houses, dates that were definitely a product of beer goggles. She couldn’t ever remember feeling this horrible, however, not even during the worst hangover in her memory. 

Elizabeth’s entire body ached, from the pounding in her head to the sharp stabs of pain in her ankles. The pain was amplified every time whatever she was in would hit something and bump her. If she was in a car they were the slowest drivers of all time, and they had the top down. The sun was piercing through even her closed eyelids. She tried to bring her hand up to shade her eyes from the painful light, only to realize she _couldn’t_. 

She tried to crack open her eyes instead, but she was still groggy and her vision slightly blurred. She took a sniff instead, immediately recoiling. Overwhelming amounts of body odor, spoiled food, and what certainly smelled like shit of both human and animal variety. 

_Where the hell was she?_

Someone groaned next to her and she finally managed to focus enough to see clearly. She looks up into the grim face of a strange man. His blonde hair was scraggly and clearly hadn’t been washed in ages as it hung around his face. He wasn’t _ugly_ , just kinda dirty. Like, Kurt Cobain after a roll around in some dirt. 

“Hey, you’re both finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there.” 

She looks around, finally noticing that she’s in the back of an old rickety wooden wagon, the kind that they usually put in old westerns or other period movies. There are several men stuffed in the back with her, all of them with their hands tied in thick rope. The one nearest the back of the wagon is even gagged. She looks down at herself and notices that she is indeed tied up too, but she also has an extra rope tying to her the man next to her. The one blinking up at her groggily with red eyes set in a face of grey. 

Okay...so she guesses she’s still dreaming? Her head really fucking hurt and she could barely think straight, but she felt like she knew what was going on. If only her head would stop pounding enough for her to concentrate. 

“Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was fine until you came along! Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you I’d have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there, “ he nods towards the grey man next to her, who stops glaring at his ropes long enough to lift a questioning eyebrow at the angry brunette man. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.” 

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now,” says dirty Kurt.

“Shut up back there!” 

Elizabeth startles at the sudden shout, turning to look at the drivers themselves. They were wearing what looked like medieval armor. She even spotted a glint of metal on their hips, like they were carrying real swords. She gulped and spared a look at the grey guy still tied to her, noting that he looked just as freaked out as her even if the proud tilt of his head remained. 

“What’s wrong with him, huh?” The angry brunette man snorts and nods his head towards the large gagged man in the back. 

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

Apparently, dirty Kurt had said something truly terrifying, because angry brunette looked ready to piss his pants. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion... if they’ve captured you... _oh gods_ , where are they taking us?”

“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.”

“No, This can’t be happening! This isn’t happening!”

Angry brunette looked on the verge of a panic attack and she was afraid his terror was infectious because she was starting to freak out herself. Her mind was finally clearing of the painful fog and she realized she knew this scene. She’d seen it play out a million times. She could quote it word for word if asked. 

“Hey, what village are you from horse-thief?”

“Why do you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”

“Rorikstead. I’m from Rorikstead.”

“General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting.” 

Everyone in the wagon turns to watch as two official-looking men meet to talk. Elizabeth swallows thickly when she recognizes Hadvar. Fucking Hadvar. 

“Good, let's get this over with.”

“Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!” Angry brunette mutters loudly, rocking back and forth in his seat. What was his name again? Something with an ‘L’ she thinks. 

Dirty Kurt - who she now realizes is Ralof - scoffs at the men. “Look at him! General Tullius, the Military. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this.” He pauses and looks around the filthy little village. “This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Velod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in... Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.”

Elizabeth feels her breath hitch as they turn the corner, the little scene where the father is ushering his child into the house so he wouldn’t witness the deaths scarily familiar. 

The wagon is slowing even more, and she looks around, amazed that she could recognize everything. There’s Hadvar, waiting with his list. There’s his bitch of a Captain. There’s the chopping block. There’s the tower where Alduin...oh fuck. 

“Get these prisoners out of the cart!”

The wagon stops with a jolt and she struggles to keep her balance. The grey guy (Dunmer, she recalls. Dark Elves) is someone that she doesn’t recognize but seems nice enough since he pushes his shoulder against her to keep her from falling over. She smiles timidly in thanks, and he nods briskly. She realizes he’s been silent the entire time. Could he be the _Dragonborn_? It would be a giant fucking joke on the entire world if _she_ was. 

“Why are we stopping?”

Ralof looks at the angry brunette with pity shining in his eyes.“ Why do you think? End of the line. Let’s go, we shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” 

Ralof stands bravely and leads the way out of the wagon, despite angry brunette’s panicked whining.

“No! Wait! We’re not rebels!” 

“Face your death with some courage, thief.”

To be fair to the guy, Elizabeth was starting to feel like breathing was becoming difficult. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel her entire body shaking. To be honest, she was probably in the middle of both a panic attack and whatever shock did to the body. She felt almost detached and yet this still all felt almost too real. 

“You’ve got to tell them we weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” angry brunette continues ranting. 

“Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!” the female Captain shouted. Elizabeth glanced around nervously. Any moment now she was going to wake up. Hopefully, before she had to put her neck anywhere near the wooden block still stained with past kills. 

Hadvar clears his throat and adjusts his papers before turning towards the gagged prisoner.

“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.” 

They all turn to watch as the large man walks defiantly towards his place in line. 

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof nods his head towards the man. 

“Ralof of Riverwood,” he moves to his spot in line proudly. 

“Lokir of Rorikstead.” 

“No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” 

Elizabeth flinches as angry brunette tries to make a run for it. She’d always thought this part was fucked up.

“Halt!” the Captain yells at him.

“You’re not going to kill me!” 

_Horrible choice for your last words_ , she thinks. 

“Archers!” 

Elizabeth observes in horror as the arrow flies through the air. Surprisingly enough it landed in his knee instead of his head or gut. He rolled around on the ground, groaning. Elizabeth thought she might be going a little crazy if all she wanted to do was giggle and make jokes about guards and arrows to the knee. Maybe the guard in Whiterun was angry brunette the whole time. 

The Captain glares at the rest of the prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running?” 

Hadvar crinkles his nose and looks at the Dark Elf man next to her. 

“Wait... You there. Step forward.” 

The man did his best to walk up to Hadvar without pulling her too much. He subtly eases her behind him and quirks an eyebrow at the soldier. 

“Who are you?” Hadvar questions, glancing between him and the list in his hand. 

“Sundrose Droleno,” the Dark Elf answers, his voice refined and currently sounding very bored and unimpressed with the entire affair. If Elizabeth hadn’t noticed the fear flashing briefly in his eyes while they were on the wagon, she would think him unaffected entirely. 

“Another refugee?” Hadvar sighs. “The Gods really have abandoned your people, dark elf. Captain, what should we do? He’s not on the list.”

The woman sneers at him and shrugs. “Forget the list. He goes straight to the block.” 

Hadvar frowns, obviously trying to hold back saying something. Finally, his shoulders droop and he looks at the dark elf, apology shining in his eyes but meaningless as everyone now knew how unfair this entire thing was. 

“By your orders, Captain. I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains get returned to Morrowind. Follow the captain, prisoner.”

Hadvar finally notices Elizabeth behind the Dark Elf, frown deepening as he notes the combined rope. 

“What’s going on here?” 

“He tried to stop us from taking her,” one of the soldiers that drove the wagon answered. “Figured he’d come along easier if he had his...lady friend,” the soldier snorted, showing exactly what sort of friend he thought she was. 

“Enough!” the Captain shouts. “Take care of her next. Whether she’s accomplice or camp whore makes no difference. She was with the rebels. Collect her name and stand her in line.” 

“Captain, I don’t think…”

“Exactly. You’re not to think. You’re to follow orders. Or do you want to join them? Don’t think I’m not aware of where you’re from. Childhood friends of yours, perhaps?” 

“No, Captain,” he swallows, shutting his eyes briefly before calling her forward. 

“I’m sorry. What is your name?” 

She swallows to wet her dry throat, answering softly, “Elizabeth Williams.” 

Hadvar raises his eyebrow but scratches down the name. “And where do you hail from? High Rock?” 

Elizabeth merely nodded her head, knowing that any other answer like, “ _Planet Earth_ ,” or “ _Arizona_ ,” would probably get her a trip to an interrogation chamber rather than waiting out here for the inevitable outcome. 

He then waves for her to join the dark elf, no one thinking to bother untying them from each other before sending them to the block, apparently. As she steps up to her place, she searches the skies frantically for signs of Alduin. Unless her being here has changed things he should start heading over here soon. Hopefully, before they made her walk up for her turn. 

She hadn’t realized how much she was shaking until the dark elf - Sundrose? - placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. He leaned over slightly and whispered in her ear, “Don’t let them see your fear. Head up, little one.” 

She exhaled harshly and nodded, squaring her shoulders as she resumed her search. That’s right, she’d be okay. This man next to her was the Dragonborn. She was going to live. 

General Tullius walked towards Ulfric, his eyes burning with hatred and fanaticism.

“Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp the throne.”

Ulfric growls warningly from beneath his gag, but the General ignores him. 

“You started this war, flung Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace.”

Finally, the sound that Elizabeth had been waiting for rang through the skies. The far-off roar of a dragon. 

Hadvar looked around nervously. “What was that?” 

“It’s nothing. Carry on.” General Tullius snapped, eyes never moving from Ulfric. 

Captain Bitch salutes him. “Yes, General Tullius!” She turns to the priestess they’ve so thoughtfully provided. “Give them their last rites.” 

The drably clothed woman nods and turns towards the line of prisoners. 

“As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the 8 divines upon you-”

“For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with,” one of the Stormcloak soldiers snaps and marches towards the chopping block. Elizabeth swallows nervously, because holy shit, was she really about to see someone decapitated? 

The priestess stops and stammers, looking at the soldier with a mixture of confusion and pity. “As you wish.”

“Come on! I haven’t got all morning!” The soldier bellows. Some of his fellow soldiers snicker, not seeming surprised by this turn of events at all. He takes one last look at Ulfric and they share a nod before he drops to his knees and presses his face to that horribly stained wood. 

“My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?”

Elizabeth holds her breath as they step on the man to hold him down, and she watches in horror as the axe falls and - 

A hand quickly grabs her head and turns it towards the side, and she finds shelter in the dark elf’s shoulder. Unfortunately, she could still hear the moment metal met flesh and the horrifying thud as they simply kicked the body to the side like trash. 

“You Imperial bastards!” One of the Stormcloak’s yelled at the executioners, spitting into the dirt. 

The gathered crowd of villagers were screaming a different tune - _“Justice!”_ and “ _Death to the Stormcloaks!_ ” were the most common. The first taste the game gave you of differing views and sides. 

Ralof sighed and she peeked out of Sundrose’s arm to watch him stare proudly at the corpse. “As fearless in death as he was in life.” 

Captain Bitch stood at attention, smirking gleefully at Sundrose. “Next, the dark elf!

The distant roar of a dragon grew closer. 

_You’re an asshole, Alduin, but right now I’d really like you to hurry and get here,_ she thought. 

Hadvar dropped his hand to the hilt of his sword, searching the skies himself. 

“There it is again... did you hear that?”

Captain Bitch ignored him, too power-mad to pay attention to anything else. 

“I said... Next. Prisoner.” 

One of the Imperial soldiers grabs Sundrose’s arm, yanking him forward. 

“To the block prisoner. Nice and easy.”

To her horror, they still hadn’t untied her, so she was pulled right along with him and expected to stand at his side as they executed him. She definitely wasn’t picking Imperials this playthrough. 

Sundrose knelt gracefully, turning his head to face her. 

“Close your eyes, little one,” he said softly, watching her as the headsman raised his axe. 

“No need. He’s here,” she grinned, even as terror filled her at the very real Alduin flying close and landing on the stone building behind them. He roared, sending everyone around them into a panic. 

“What in Oblivion is that?!” Hadvar yelled. 

Elizabeth waited for Captain Bitch and the General to be caught up in the panic before reaching down to help Sundrose to his feet. They both stood there watching as Alduin set the little town ablaze, killing most of their would-be executioners instantly. 

Suddenly Ralof appears and grabs Sundrose’s arm, tugging him towards one of the buildings. 

“Come on! The guards won’t give us another chance! This way!”

They both run along after Ralof, with the still gagged Ulfric not far behind them. They rush into one of the still mostly intact buildings, slamming the door behind them. Ralof pulls a dagger off of one of the bodies inside, using it to slash all of their ropes. Elizabeth sighs and rubs her burning wrists in relief. 

Ralof turns to Ulfric, his eyes wide in wonder - and though he would probably never admit it - a touch of fear. 

“Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?” 

Ulfric finishes untying his binds and spits out his gag. “Legends don’t burn down villages.”

Alduin’s roars outside rattle the building as he nears their location, all of them looking worriedly at the walls. 

“We need to move, now!” Ralof bellows, gesturing for them to follow him upstairs. 

They all run until they can’t anymore, finally facing a dead end. The rest of the stairs had been smashed off by Alduin, leaving nothing but a giant hole in the stone wall. 

“See the inn on the other side?” Ralof asked, turning to the two behind him. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can!”

And here she was, the end of Skyrim chapter one. She startles as Sundrose suddenly jumps without a word. She rushes towards the hole, watching in awe as he neatly lands with a slight roll, before standing up and dusting himself off. 

He looks up with a charming grin and reaches both of his arms out. 

“Jump, little one. I’ll catch you.”

Elizabeth gulps and walks trepidly towards the edge. She steels herself by taking a few deep breaths, staring at Sundrose as she launches herself from the edge. 

Time suddenly stood still as she registered the roar of the dragon was far too close for comfort. She could feel the sweltering breath as he opened his mouth, the stench of sulfur bringing tears to her eyes. Then came the scent of searing flesh as her pained screams filled the air. The last thing she heard was the cry of horror from the man below her. 

She supposed as far as ways to die went, this was probably up there. Death by video game. That wasn’t a video game. And it wasn't a dream. Because she was in Skyrim and she was very, very, awake. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is super short, I know, but I wanted to put out something for you guys. Things have been hectic in my life and I've been working 13+ hours six days a week for a while now so I'm pretty much in a constant state of exhaustion. I hope you're all staying healthy and safe. I'll try to have the next part out very soon! 
> 
> P.S. I know that in ESO they've said 'Hell' quite often, but that's always bothered me. Why would they call it hell? That is a Christian-based earth word, or whatever, and it just seemed strange to include it. So I'm fighting against the ESO writers lmao.

“Ralof, I think your friend here is finally awake!” 

Elizabeth groaned as she came to and registered that she hurt  _ everywhere _ . The worst of the pain seemed to be on her leg since she’d flexed it a little to try to move and the pain was sharp and agonizing. 

“Easy there,” a woman’s voice eased her to awareness as she opened her eyes, meeting the blue ones of a blonde Nord woman leaning over her. 

“Please don’t be frightened. My brother Ralof and your elf companion brought you here after you were attacked by the dragon. You’ll heal, but your leg suffered a little in the fall and your skin was badly burned. You will be well enough to walk in a couple of days, and then I suggest heading to a shrine to see if it will help.” 

Elizabeth grimaced as she tried to respond and found her throat dry and sore. 

“Ah, you must be thirsty. You’ve been asleep for almost two days.” 

She accepted a wooden cup of water and tried to drink as gracefully as she could, despite her shaking hands and parched throat. When she finally had her fill, she handed the cup back to the woman sitting on the edge of the wooden bed. 

Looking around, she tried to take stock of her situation. She was laid up in a rustic wooden bed, covered in what looked like a bunch of animal skins. The house was very warm and just as rustic as the bed - all wood and furs, with a huge fireplace taking up most of the space. It looked pretty much how she’d always imagined a witch's cottage would be like, with all the herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling and potions lining the shelves. 

She peeked at the woman in the bed with her, trying to get a good look without seeming rude. She was pretty enough, although years of living in the probably unforgiving northern climate had definitely left its mark, as well as a few scars that were probably smallpox if this place was indeed real. She imagined this must be Gerdur, meaning the dark elf had chosen to follow Ralof home to Riverwood. 

The front door of the cabin opens and dirty Kurt - or Ralof, rather - stomps inside, smiling generously at her as he nears the bed and looks her over. 

“Awake at last? You had us all worried for a moment there, girl. I’ve sent my nephew Frodnar to get Sundrose. He’s been helping the merchants with a task. He’ll be here soon.” 

As though speaking his name had summoned him, Sundrose slammed the cabin door open and jogged to the bedside, seemingly unaware of the fact that he totally elbowed Ralof and Gerdur out of the way. He was panting as though he’d run the entire way and scanning her face frantically. 

“Are you alright? Aware? How many fingers am I holding up?” 

Elizabeth snorts at the Dark Elf. “None.” 

He looks down at his hands as if he were amazed that they were still against his sides. 

“Ah,” he cleared his throat. “Apologies. We weren’t sure you were going to make it for a moment. It’s been some time since anyone had experience with dragon wounds.” 

“I’m a bit sore and my leg is throbbing like hell, but I think I’ll be okay.” 

He looked momentarily confused, as though he was trying to figure out her meaning, before he finally shrugged and sighed. 

“That’s good. Very good. I’ve finished some tasks around here and made enough coin to get us to Whiterun as soon as you think you are able to travel. It’s not that far - perhaps three days if we make good time? Gerdur’s husband Hod has very kindly offered to drive us up there in his wagon to make it easier on your injuries.” 

“Us? You’re taking me with you?” Honestly, she hadn’t really let herself think too much in depth about where the hell she actually was, but her first instinct had told her the elf would simply leave her here to be Ralof’s problem and run off to be the Dragonborn. 

“Well, yes. I...erm...could we perhaps be in private for a moment? I promise your belongings are safe, I merely wish to speak with my friend if I could?” 

Gerdur glances between the two of them and waits for Elizabeth’s nod of affirmation before herding her brother towards the door. 

“We’ll be right outside. Holler if you need us,” Gerdur says with a nod, closing the door softly behind her. 

Sundrose sighs and settles more comfortably in his chair before turning that intense crimson gaze on her. 

“Before we were captured, do you remember where you were?” 

Elizabeth chewed her lip as she contemplated how much to tell the man. Would he believe her more about her talk of the future or being in Mara’s garden? Should she play it safe and say she’d just arrived from High Rock? 

His full lips turned up on the side, a little dimple showing as he slowly grinned. 

“Were you in an ostentatiously decorated garden? Perhaps speaking with a creature claiming to be Mara?” 

“Yes!” Elizabeth exclaims, leaning towards him in excitement. “Were you there too? Are you... _ him _ ?” 

“By ‘Him’ I assume you mean your soulmate?” He asks slowly, shrugging as he turns to stare at the wall in thought. He strokes his shadowed chin, humming. 

“I...don’t know, to be quite honest. Not a phrase I like using very often. I was there with you - I remember feeling you, seeing flashes of your face and the face of someone else. I remember thinking that your soul felt...familiar. Which is a very odd thought to have about a soul. I would say yes based on that information alone, but there was another…”

“Another face, you said?” 

He nods thoughtfully. “Like yours but different. I don’t know. It was very fogged over, like Mara didn’t want me to get a good look. Perhaps a you from another life?” He shrugs. “At the very least, I know that when we were returned to ground that I immediately felt protective of you as soon as I saw you lying there unconscious. Before I could really think too much about it, the Imperials appeared and threw us in the wagon.” 

“So all the evidence points to us being  _ something _ . Maybe soulmates, but also maybe not?” Elizabeth huffs and flaps back against the wall. “This is so confusing. And a lot less romantic than I’d thought it would be to meet the future love of my life.” 

He laughs, a low and smooth chuckle that was...elegant? Can laughs be elegant? 

“Terribly sorry. At least there’s a chance you won’t have to deal with me then. I’m not a very romantic fellow to begin with, I’m afraid. The dramatics tend to become tedious after the first hundred years or so.” 

Elizabeth’s jaw drops. She’d forgotten about the way races aged differently here. “How old are you?” 

Sundrose quirks an eyebrow. “Terribly rude to ask that, little one, but I’ll tell you. I’m 214. Fairly young still, among my people. And of course my soulmate has to be a human that is a veritable infant,” Sundrose drawls, his slight mischievous smirk softening the teasing words. 

“Hey, I just turned 30! In human years, I’m ancient!” 

“Forgive me, crone,” he mocked, bowing slightly. 

Elizabeth snorted, then adjusted her aching leg with a sigh. 

“When did you want to leave?” 

He shrugged. “Whenever you think you can handle it. We need to warn the Jarl about the dragon, so as soon as can be arranged is preferable. If it’s much longer we’ll have to send someone ahead of us.” 

She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “Lets go today.” 

“Today?” he asked incredulously, “You just barely have regained consciousness. I hardly think you should be going on a journey at the moment.” 

“No,” she shook her head. “The sooner we get there, the better. You need to talk to the Jarl, and I would like to get to a healer or one of those altar things. This hurts like hell.” 

“You say that a lot. Hell. What is that?” 

“Oh, its...like oblivion, I guess? It’s where bad people go when they die...or something. It’s what a lot of people believe. Never really believed in that stuff myself, but it makes a hell of a curse word,” she grins. 

He looks at her thoughtfully for a few moments before he finally asks, “You’re not even from here, are you? Where did she take you from?” 

And there’s the magic question. 

“Apparently my soul is from here, but it was stolen? I’m still not quite clear on that. I grew up in Arizona, a state in America. On, well, planet Earth. A place that is...way far in the future and, like, on a whole ‘nother...universe? Plane? Realm? I don’t know. Very different from here, I can tell you that much.” 

“And she just picked you up and deposited you in a strange land with just the clothes on your back to correct her own mistakes,” he added, his eyes hardening. “I despise the daedra,” he scoffs angrily. 

“At least I’m not going into this completely blind, just, ya know, poor and homeless,” she chuckles. “In my world, Skyrim is a...tale? Legend? Not sure how to describe it to you, but I know the basic story of this land and whats to come.” 

“Do you?” Sundrose responds, leaning back and looking at her curiously. 

“Mhmm. In fact, I know that when you went to help Lucan get his claw back, you came across a wall. A wall that taught you a word in another language that you were somehow able to understand. You also found a tablet with this same language written on it.” 

“I haven’t told anyone about that yet. I was going to wait and talk to the court wizard when we got to Whiterun. Your stories told you about me?” 

She bit her lip, unsure of how much to divulge. “Yes, a bit. You’re about to save Skyrim, Sundrose.” 

He stared at her with growing horror on his handsome face. 

“Gods’ grief!” 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, Farkas is supposed to be here too, right? lmao

The journey to Whiterun was surprisingly uneventful. Elizabeth desperately wished she had the game's fast travel function as the rickety wagon jostled her burned skin around and it was horribly freezing, but at least it gave her more time to get to know Sundrose a little better. 

He was certainly charming as he regaled her with tales of his travels from his place on the front seat of the wagon, and definitely handsome despite how weird it was to see a dark elf in person. The dark grey skin and crimson eyes made her think of vampires more than a friendly elf, but he had a beautiful smile and was always flashing it around. He seemed to lean towards being a mage, she noted, always quick to use magic for basic tasks like lighting their nightly fires or summoning his familiar for hunting down small game. She’d also noticed the lovingly polished and engraved lock-picking set he tried to conceal in his coat, so she knew there was more to him than the charming facade. She snorted to herself, thinking that he’d probably thrive once he met the thieves guild. 

As far as soulmates went, she supposed she could do worse. It’s not like she was without flaws herself. Still, she kept feeling like something was off. Or maybe she was just being picky. 

When she imagined settling down over the years, her dream partner was always just that - her partner in all things. Someone she could rely on and confide in. Someone that she could finally smother with all the needy affection she held at bay and would in turn make her feel protected and precious. She’d been essentially alone for such a long time that what she wanted most was a family to call her own. 

Sundrose was...wonderful, yes. He was charming and witty. He seemed to be from high-class stock but didn’t look down on anyone who wasn’t. Seemed to have genuine affection for Elizabeth, though she often felt it was the same sort of attention he’d lavish on a pet than on a lover. 

Mostly, it was just little things that triggered little red flags in her mind. How he’d forget all about her injuries until she was practically sobbing and begging him to use his magic. It couldn’t heal the entire thing since Sundrose apparently “never quite mastered the softer arts”, but he was usually able to draw out the pain enough that she could relax back into her blankets in the back of the wagon quietly. She didn’t think he was like this because he was uncaring or selfish, simply easily distracted. 

There was also the fact that he was incredibly adventurous and always talking about where to go next or what he’s done before. For the Dragonborn, this was a great quality to have. For a future life-partner of Elizabeth’s...not so much. Setting down roots was exactly what she wanted and the thought of having to constantly be on the move or trail along after Sundrose as he goes on quest after quest was terrifying. 

Especially as the more time went on and it was becoming more real in Elizabeth’s mind - she was really here in Tamriel. In Skyrim, with dragons and vampires and other things that fuel nightmares in her own world. And she didn’t have any experience defending herself except pressing buttons on a controller. She owned nothing except for the far too long dress that Gerdur had kindly given her and she’s had to wear for almost three days straight. And she had no one except for a stranger that might be her soulmate. 

She’d never been more afraid. 

Still, if there was one thing Elizabeth had mastered from her years in foster care it was how to adapt to new situations. So she stayed mostly quiet, letting Sundrose ramble to her and Hod as he pleased. 

It wasn’t until the wagon rounded a corner and she caught the first glance of Whiterun’s walls that she remembered the companions were supposed to be fighting a giant nearby. 

Sure enough, a little past one of the farms they neared came an angered roar as the companions themselves had the terrifying thing surrounded, trying to herd it away from the farms. Hod pulled the wagon to a stop and Sundrose stood up in his seat. Elizabeth watched in fascination as a long shard of ice formed in his hand and shot like a spear straight for the giant. It landed firmly in one of the creature’s eyes and it fell backward onto the ground with a crash that rumbled the earth below it. 

The companions all turned as one to stare at them as Sundrose jumped from the cart. 

“Do you still have that dagger I gave you yesterday?” he whispered, leaning casually against the wagon. 

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes widening in worry. The companions were good. He wouldn’t do anything, would he? 

“Pull it out and keep it in your hand. I’m sure things will be fine, but just in case.” 

She did as she was told, even though she knew it wouldn’t be necessary. With Sundrose standing there as tense as he was though, she figured she’d give him one less thing to worry about. 

The woman that strolled up to them could be none other than Aela The Huntress herself. She was...well, stunning was the best word she could think of. Tall and regal, but with a barely restrained wildness obvious to anyone observing her. Behind her was a character that Elizabeth never really paid much attention to. Ria? All she remembered was taking her to Delphine later in the game. And making up the rear was…

Holy shit

Elizabeth couldn’t hold back the little gasp that escaped her as she laid her eyes on Farkas for the first time. She knew she’d have a fangirl moment since he was always her marriage choice in the game, but those graphics had not done him justice in the least. Had he lived in her world she was sure he would be in some superhero movie since he had a body that would make Chris Hemsworth envious and the roguish baby-faced appeal of Sebastian Stan. 

Like he’d heard her tiny gasp (who was she kidding, he totally had. Werewolf, duh), his stunning blue eyes shot to her and locked with her own. He stared longer than was comfortable, but instead of feeling self-conscious or threatened, she liked it. An awkward thought when your supposed soulmate was mere steps away. 

His nose flared and he didn’t break eye contact until Sundrose was right in front of him, blocking her from sight. Whether he’d done that on purpose or not, she didn’t know. 

Aela stood next to Farkas, beaming at Sundrose with her hands on her hips. 

“You handle yourself well. You could make for a decent Shield-Brother.”

“Well, you lot didn’t really appear to need much help,” Sundrose chuckled, his usual charm oozing out in waves. 

“Certainly not. But a true warrior would have relished the opportunity to take on a giant. That's why I'm here with my Shield-Brothers.” 

“Shield-Brother?” 

“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions? An order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor. And we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.” 

And it appeared as though she’d said the magic word because with the promise of coin Sundrose perked up like a meerkat. 

“I see,” he murmured, rubbing his beard in thought. “And do you take in new members?” 

“Not for me to say. You'll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man's got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck.” 

“I think I’ll do just that. I must first go to the Jarl, of course, as it’s important business. I’ll be by directly after to speak to your man.” 

Aela nodded and stomped off, not even sparing a glance Elizabeth’s way. Sundrose himself seemed to just remember she existed as his eyebrows rose to the sky when he turned and spied her still laying in the back of the wagon. He quickly called out to Farkas, who stopped walking towards the town with a thinly veiled grimace. 

“Companion! Yes, the big one. Hello. This Jorrvaskr is a dwelling for the group, yes? With rooms and such?” 

“Yes. Everyone that proves themselves worthy is allowed to live there.” 

Elizabeth shivered upon first hearing his voice. It still had the gravely aspect that had been so prominent in the game, but it was still...softer? Smoother? She didn’t know what word she was thinking of. All she knew was that both of her arms were riddled with goosebumps from his voice alone. 

“Splendid. My darling Elizabeth is wounded and needs to rest while I see the Jarl, and Hod needs to head back to Riverwood. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take her with you? I’ll make my visit as short as I possibly can.” 

Sundrose’s voice was syrupy with charm and manners, but she could tell that Farkas didn’t care for it one bit. His jaw was clenched and his hand was wrapped around the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles were white. 

“Fine,” he gritted out. “I’ll take care of it.” 

“Well done of you! I’ll be sure to give you something for your trouble,” Sundrose grinned and strolled back to her side of the wagon.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, unknowing that the werewolf could hear him perfectly fine. “I’ve actually heard of these companions. They are all about honor and glory, a very trustworthy bunch. I’ll finish as quickly as I can.” 

She nods and scoots towards front of the wagon as much as she could, unsure of how Sundrose expected her to be taken to Jorrvaskr in the first place. That was answered when Farkas stalked towards the wagon and held out his arms. 

She expected him to simply haul her across his shoulder like a sack of grain, but when she scooted as close as she could without screaming in pain, he picked her up like she was a porcelain statue. She’d always wondered what it would be like to be held in a princess carry, and now she knew. It was wonderful. 

He cradled her close to his chest as he stomped away without another glance at Sundrose. Despite what his war makeup suggested, he didn’t smell dirty at all. There was, of course, the distinct odor of someone not wearing deodorant, but he couldn’t be blamed for that. There were also nice smells intermingled. Leather, pine, smoke, a hint of clove for some reason. It was nice.   
“My name is Elizabeth. I don’t if you remembered him telling you,” she says softly, trying to break the somewhat uncomfortable silence. He seemed so angry and she hated feeling like a burden. 

He grunts, adjusting her a little so he could look at her face. “I heard. I am Farkas.” 

“It’s nice to meet you. Thank you for doing this. I’m sure it’s not easy carrying me.” 

“You’re not heavy. Your fool should have provided you with a cart, though. It would be more comfortable.” 

She blushes and looks away from his intense eyes. “This is probably better. Too much bouncing in the wagon.” 

He grunts and continues stomping away, his eyes back on the path before them. 

“I’m sorry for upsetting you,” she said softly, overcome with the urge to calm him. 

“It’s not you I’m upset with. I can’t stand men that don’t treat their women right.” 

“Oh, no. He’s not...we’re...um. He’s not my man? Just, like, I don’t know. Friend?” 

The look he sent her could clearly be interpreted as ‘If you say so.’ 

“Even so, shoving you into the arms of someone unknown to you while you’re unable to protect yourself is foolish. But it’s none of my business. Let’s just get you home.” 

And that was the last thing he said until they reached Whiterun, not that she’d said anything either. Truthfully, she’d just spent the remaining time enjoying being held in his arms. This had been the safest she’d felt since waking up in this world, cradled close to his chest like he was protecting her from everything. 

As soon as they entered the gates she peeked out from her haven to look around. Whiterun still looked fairly similar to how it was in the game, albeit many more houses. It was actually fairly charming in a way, and not as filthy as she supposed it could have been in real life. 

The houses were all made of wood but beautifully designed, with intricate carvings to show who was who. Children were running around playing and laughing, their parents nowhere in sight. 

“Boy!” Farkas growled as soon as one of the kids ran close enough. The little boy couldn’t have been more than seven, but he seemed to know who to listen to. He stood to attention, staring up at the big man in awe. 

“Tell the Priestess to come to Jorrvaskr. And Arcadia as well. We have a woman that needs healing,” he grunted, balancing her onto one arm to reach into his pouch and flick a coin to the child, who caught it with a happy grin and raced off to do as he was told. 

“You don’t have to do all that. Can’t you just take me to the shrine and it’ll heal me?” she looked up at him with a frown as he jostled her back into place. 

“Whoever told you that was full of goat’s dung. Sometimes if you pray enough it will cure a disease, maybe give you some good luck, but heal? No. For that, we see the Priestess Danica. She can heal your bones. Arcadia will have some foul-smelling paste for your skin. I can smell the burnt flesh. You must be in great pain.” 

“I’ve had worse,” she started, pausing when she spotted his eyebrow raising doubtfully. “Okay, it’s pretty bad.” 

He huffed, nodding as a few people greeted him in passing. 

“You haven’t said a word in complaint. You are a strong woman.” 

Normally she would have said something like, “Oh, because I’m not a complaining woman I’m deserving of respect,” but she wouldn’t say that here. She recognized it as the highest compliment he knew how to give. 

When they finally reached Jorvaskr, her jaw dropped to the ground. The building was massive! If the companion’s building was this big, she was looking forward to getting a good look at Dragonsreach. 

She tried to close her gaping mouth when Farkas threw the front doors open, not wanting to look more strange that she was certain she already did. The inside was bright and lively. The massive table around the hearthfire was covered with food. There were several people shouting and lots of loud laughter filling the air. It was homey in a chaotic sort of way. 

“Tilma!”Farkas roared, stomping inside and looking around, uncaring of the way people were slowly turning their attention to them. 

From seemingly out of nowhere comes the oldest woman that Elizabeth has ever seen in person. She’s so tiny that she looks like the wind will blow her away, but she scurries towards them with a quickness that is rather impressive. 

“What have you got now, boy?” she croaks, leaning over to stare at Elizabeth. 

“We’re going to put her in the room next to mine. I can get her fire going myself, but could you bring her some food and something to drink? Danica and Arcadia should be here soon to attend her.” 

Tilma reaches up and pats Farkas on the shoulder like a dog that had done well. “Of course. The rooms always kept ready, you know that. Just get her comfortable and I’ll bring a tray. Poor thing,” she muttered as she wandered towards what was probably the kitchens. 

Elizabeth could feel eyes following them as he thundered towards the stairs, so she shyly tucked her head into his chest. It rumbled a little and she peeked up to see he was silently laughing at her. 

“Shut up. It’s embarrassing.” 

He shrugged, but the tiny grin took a long time to disappear. 

The room he took her was cozy. There was a decent-sized bed covered with furs that would probably pass for a full back home. A trunk at the end of it for all of her non-existent belongings. A wardrobe, desk, and empty bookshelf made up the rest of the furniture. 

Farkas reached over to pull some of the furs away before setting her gently down on the bed, placing the furs over her once she was comfortable enough. She welcomed the extra warmth, so for some reason being out of his arms made her feel rather exposed. 

He went to the fireplace that was already efficiently stacked with wood and tinder, using a rock to get it started nearly instantly. That was a handy trick, she thought. 

There was no other way to put what he did next than that he was literally standing guard at her door. He stood there silent for a good five minutes, his huge back covering the door so efficiently she couldn’t even see past him. He stood like that with his arms folded until the sounds of multiple footsteps heading their way made him finally relax. 

“Move, you mammoth. Did you want me to heal someone, or not?” 

The crisp voice of someone certainly not a Nord filtered towards Elizabeth, and she grinned as the clearly flustered Farkas moved to the side to allow the people through. 

The hooded figure that entered silently was obviously Danica, which would make the more no-nonsense woman next to her Arcadia. 

“Thank you for coming,” Elizabeth said when it was obvious that Farkas wasn’t going to. 

“You are quite welcome. Can you show us the issue?” Danica asked softly as she pulled a chair from the desk to sit at the bedside. 

Elizabeth nodded and tugged the furs to the side, sneaking a quick glance at Farkas as she pulled the dress up to her knees. The skin on her left leg was horrific. Burnt and shriveled, the bruises underneath making it even more disturbing. The right one escaped the worst of the damage, merely being riddled with bruises and a sprained ankle. 

The room was suddenly filled with low growls and all three women turned to Farkas. He pierced her with hard eyes, grunting out with clenched teeth, “What did this?” 

“Dragon,” Elizabeth answered softly, staring back at her messed up legs. 

The two healers gasped, Arcadia’s hand fluttering towards her chest. “Truly?” 

Elizabeth nodded. “Yes, it’s what my friend has gone to tell the Jarl. That there is a dragon nearby that destroyed Helgen and could be headed this way. We would have been here sooner, but I was unconscious for a couple of days.” 

“He didn’t bring you to a healer before now?” Farkas asked, his voice hard as steel. 

“There wasn’t anyone. They did what they could.” 

The two healers shook their heads, while Farkas seemed horribly upset. That was sweet of him but she didn’t know why he cared so much. 

Danica sighed and swept some hair away from Elizabeth’s forehead, watching her with worry. 

“I can heal you, but you have a great deal of damage. It will not be a short process and will hurt. I am very sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Elizabeth said, sounding braver than she felt. “You do what you need to.” 

She said it with such nonchalance she was impressed by herself. The reality was that her heart was beating a mile a minute and was dreading what was about to happen badly. 

The first run of Danica’s hand over her legs was fine. A gentle warmth as she was seeking out everything that needed to be repaired. 

“Brace yourself,” she said softly as she suddenly raised both hands above Elizabeth’s legs. 

The pain wasn’t too bad at first, a sharp pain the equivalent of bumping your toe into the coffee table. But instead of ebbing off, it grew up she began to wonder if Danica was actually healing her or trying to pull the bones from her body. 

Her quiet whimpers grew to breathless sobs, and then she suddenly felt a heavy presence at her side. 

“Hold my hand. Don’t worry about hurting me, I can take it,” a voice rumbled in her ear and she scrambled for the proffered limb, holding it in a grip that would have bruised anyone else. “That’s it. Such a strong, brave woman.” 

It was nice of him to say so, even if she knew it wasn’t true. 

After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally receded enough for her to concentrate. Farkas held her close, her face tucked into his chest and his massive hand laced with hers. She pulled away a little to take a few breathes and wipe the tears from her eyes. Danica sat in the chair watching her closely, her eyes full of remorse. 

“You did well. I’ve seen grown men lose consciousness when I must repair bones.” 

“Thanks, I think? I might pass out later,” she gave a watery laugh, leaning back with exhaustion. 

“You are quite welcome. I’ll return in two days to see if everything is reset properly. The rest is in Arcadia’s capable hands.”

With that said she stood up and moved silently from the room, while Arcadia took her place by the bed. She had a bowl filled with something that smelled like rotten eggs and brussel sprouts, but if it would actually heal her she wouldn’t complain. 

Arcadia applied the plaster to the burned fleshed, filling the silence in the room with instructions on how to make the mixture and how often it had to be reapplied. Elizabeth tried to focus but she was exhausted mentally and physically. Her body was practically begging for sleep. 

She barely even noticed when Arcadia had finished and Tilma had placed a tray of food in front of her. 

“Just a few bites,” the warm voice was back against her ear, this time trying to shove spoonfuls of some sort of porridge down her gullet. It wasn’t very good, but it made the voice happy. “Now some drink, and then you can sleep.” 

She let him tilt her head back and swallowed the milk she was given. It was warm and tasted weird, but she hadn’t realized how parched she was until it coated her throat. 

“Sleep well. You’ve fought strongly today.” 

Elizabeth smiled and fell into the blessed oblivion of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Don't hate Sundrose. He's deeper than he seems.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that this chapter is a little bit longer and full of lots more little details than my past ones. This is how I normally like to write. I like the little things, and making my characters feel more real. I'm not pleased with the past chapters of this fic - they feel SO rushed to me. I'll eventually go back and fix them when I can, so eventually, this story will be worth re-reading once I've put in more work on it. 
> 
> ANYWHO - I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. I'm a bit of a history nerd, so I like adding little details about soaps and hygiene, or the old Viking way of knitting. The knitting is going to be a thing you keep seeing in this fic because I have this image of Elizabeth knitting Farkas a sweater that he secretly loves and wears when he's alone in his room lmao.

Elizabeth decided that waking up warm and comfortable on top of a mattress made of some sort of feathers was the only way she ever wanted to greet the day ever again. No more cloaks in the back of a wagon in the middle of freezing ass Skyrim ever again, please. 

She groaned and stretched, testing her limbs. They still felt pretty weak, but the agonizing pain that would make her want to weep had eased to a light throb. She could live with that. 

She could quite happily lay beneath the three giant furs she had covering her for several more hours - despite the definite smoke odor and whatever else that was clinging to them - if only the call of her bodily functions wasn’t making itself incredibly loud. 

She grunted and pulled the furs away, hissing at the sudden rush of cold air. A quick glance at her previously blazing fire showed that it was dead and nothing but cold ashes. 

But dealing with the cold was easy. Figuring out where she was supposed to do her business? Not so much. She took a deep breath and swung herself tentatively towards the side of the bed, pressing her feet against the wooden floor with slight pressure. So far so good. She slowly pushed herself to stand, wobbling a little as she tried to balance herself. 

She limped forward for a few practice steps, a pleased grunt escaping her throat as she only felt a manageable bit of pain. Her legs mostly felt weak - likely because the bones were still healing. 

She glanced around, trying to think of her options. This was Skyrim, so most likely their plumbing situation was nonexistent or primitive at best. However, considering she’d been making do with being carried back and forth to do her business behind bushes on their journey here, anything had to be a step up. 

A quick glance behind a privacy screen in her room confirmed her suspicions. 

“A chamber pot. _Disgusting_ ,” she groaned. 

At least this one wasn’t a little pot she had to squat over, but a wooden chair system. The pot was contained in a box under the seat and had a little lid covering the hole. There was a basket filled with moss sitting to the side, so she guessed she was supposed to use it as toilet paper. 

“Why couldn’t I have been sucked into Mass Effect where they probably shoot shit into space?” she grumbled as she got comfortable and quickly took care of business. 

When she was done, she went to one of the tables and found a pitcher of water and a large bowl. There was a chunk of soap and a scrap of linen next to it, and she picked it up to take a sniff. It was softer than it looked, probably made with milk or something. It smelled heavily of honey and lavender and she shrugged, thinking it could have been worse. 

She poured a little of the cold water into the bowl and lathered up her hands and face. She could faintly hear the horrified screams of her dermatologist as she rubbed the harsh soap onto her face. 

When she was done she dried her face and hands with the cloth and desperately wished for toothpaste. And a brush, for that matter. She cringed and used her fingers to try to tame her wavy (read: unruly) brown hair. She’d probably try to beg for a scrap of leather or something to at least tie her mass of hair back since she didn’t think she could handle hobbling to wherever she needed to go to wash her hair. 

Deciding she looked as good as she could manage, she hobbled to the bedroom door and opened it slowly, peeking into the hall. It seemed quiet enough and she didn’t see anyone lurking about to witness her awkward journey. She limped out and make her way towards the living quarter’s exit, wondering how on earth (errr...Tamriel?) she was going to get up the stairs. She also realized she was barefoot and didn’t own any shoes. The floor was freezing and she wished she was well enough to walk faster. 

Suddenly the door leading to the upper level burst open and she was relieved enough to smile a greeting when she saw the familiar face. 

“There you are, little one!” Sundrose grinned sunnily as he bounded down the steps toward her. “I was just coming to see if you were awake. You slept for six hours, I’m told. This lot has a fine supper feast laid out and we’re expected to join them soon, but I wished to speak with you first.” 

He lightly places his hand on her elbow and leads her to a set of chairs nearby, waiting until she was seated before getting comfortable himself. He glances around with narrowed eyes for a moment before turning back to her. 

“Is something wrong?” She asks. 

He waves nonchalantly. “Not necessarily wrong, pet. Just...you know. That dragon business.” 

Sundrose often referred to anything she spoke of about his destiny in Skyrim as being _‘That dragon business_ ’. She’d think him truly heartless or unaffected if she hadn’t been watching him closing the past few days. He was terrified, but he often covered it up with bluster and overdramatics. 

“Ah, you fought the first dragon while I was asleep,” she says slowly, reaching out to squeeze his arm in sympathy. 

He gulps and shivers, nodding. “I did. It was... _well_ ,” his cheeks darken as he almost spouted his true feelings for once, but he clucked and smirked at her. “The lout was smelly and horribly rude. Singed my best boots. I have to buy new ones now,” he pouts. 

She shakes her head and leans back. “I’m sure it was terrifying. Especially the soul thing.”

He hums, “I think the little bit that you shared with me on the way here helped. I wasn’t completely taken unawares. Still…” he lowers his eyes to his lap, staring at his fingers as he wiggles them distractedly. “I can hear him now, you know,” he whispers, his tone hard to pin. 

“The dragon?” 

He nods once, “Not...constant. Just - sometimes I ask myself a question and he seems to feel the need to speak up. It’s faint, at least. No screaming dragons up there…” he clears his throat. “I imagine it’s going to be tedious hearing them chatter away after a while.” 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with this. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” she answered, because honestly, she had no clue what to say. She knew the trials he was going to face, but it was different when you’re on the other side of the controller thinking it’s just a game. “Visiting the Greybeards is next, then?” 

“Eventually,” he sighs morosely. “I want to put that off for a little while because seven thousand steps sound ridiculous. Why must the Nords always make everything so difficult?”

Elizabeth snorts in amusement but silently agrees. She really hopes that Sundrose isn’t planning on dragging her up a mountain. 

“What do you have planned in the meantime, then?” 

“Ah, that’s the other thing I wanted to speak to you about. I spoke with the companion’s leader - who refuses to be called that, by the way. Called himself “Harbinger” or some such thing. He had me fight a duel with another of his meatheads and I suppose I passed muster because we’re officially in. Well, I have to go on a little mission with meathead number two first. Did you know that giant that carried you here had a twin?” 

“Yes,” she grins. “Vilkas. Didn’t care for him either?” 

“It’s not that I don’t care for them. I’m sure they are perfectly...uh, good-hearted?” he shrugs, an unapologetic grin tugging at his lips. “And their eyes are rather pretty, but they are both entirely too hairy for my tastes. Rather like having relations with a bear.” 

“Oh,” she exclaims softly, blinking over at him in surprise. “You’re gay? Or...what would the word be here? I don’t know, attracted to men?” 

He shrugs. “I’ve never been overly picky. If I find someone attractive that’s good enough for me. Does that bother you?” 

“No,” she quickly shakes her head. “I just didn’t know. And I was worried that you were trying to force yourself to put up with the idea of a possible female soulmate if you were attracted to only men.” 

He waves his hand dramatically, “Of course not. Variety is the spice of life, as they say.”

She snorts, “As they say. So I assume the mission you’re talking about is getting the Wuuthrad shards with Farkas?” 

“Yes,” he nods. “Is that going to be quite a dangerous affair?” 

“Not really,” she hums. “I always thought it was pretty easy. You are going to get some new information about the companions, and I’d like for you to keep an open mind. Remember that Farkas is a good guy.” 

“Is he really, or do you just find him nice to look at?” he chuckles, the laughter increasing in volume as her cheeks darken. 

“Hush. Yes, he’s handsome. But they are good people and I just want you to keep that in mind. I’d tell you, but honestly, you’d have to see it play out to believe it.”   


His eyebrows raise curiously. “Indeed? Well, I do love a mystery.” He stands up and offers his arm, helping Elizabeth to her feet. “Now, they did mention this place was about a day's travel from here. So assuming the trial isn’t too long, I’ll be away for two or three days. They’ve agreed to take you in as well, but you won’t be forced to be a companion. Just use this time to rest and recover. How are your legs, by the way? They mentioned the healers were here.” 

She looped her arm in his as he led her to the steps, helping her climb them one by one. 

“Much better. They are still weak, obviously, but the pain is gone for the most part. Not having to be carried everywhere will be fantastic.” 

He sighs dramatically. “I will miss the joys of carrying a beautiful woman in my arms.” 

“Quiet you,” she giggles, quieting once they reach the massive dining room. 

Most everyone was already crowded around it, but Sundrose found them seats along the back wall and sat to her right. She recognized who a few of the people were from the game, despite having not met them yet.

At the head of the table was an older man, his hair and beard white with streaks of grey. He seemed strong despite his age. Obviously, this must be Kodlak. Elizabeth watched him for a moment, noticing how he observed his people with fondness and how they all seemed to be silent and listen when he spoke to them. She wondered if she would be able to save him if she tried. On the other side of him was Aela and a grizzled looking man that must be Skjor. She remembered in the game Aela denied being in a relationship with him, but the way that they seemed attached to each other said otherwise. She wondered if perhaps they were soulmates, since she knew that existed now. Next to them was a dark elf, obviously Athis. She didn’t remember much about him except he was one of the people that was fighting whenever she first entered Jorrvaskr in the game. He seemed to pay them no mind except to occasionally glance at Sundrose with suspicion. The other elderly member of the companions is there as well. Vignar, who becomes Jarl if you side with the stormcloaks, if she remembers right. There was no sign of Njada or Ria, so they must be off on quests. Torvar is obviously the huge blonde man that is paying more attention to his mug the size of a vase, leaving his plate of food nearly untouched. 

The final two members strolled in a moment later, their steps in sync as they greeted everyone and came towards the table. Elizabeth held her breath nervously as the empty space to her left was suddenly filled with two massive and warm bodies. Vilkas paid them no mind and went straight into an argument with Skjor - something about trading and money. She couldn’t really catch it because she was so overwhelmed by the firm muscled thigh pressed against hers. 

“Did you sleep well?” 

She dared a look up at the quietly rumbled words, Farkas’ blue eyes already turned to look at her. 

“Yes. Thank you. And...thank you for all your help. I feel much better,” she answered shyly. 

He nodded, turning to plate himself some food. After hesitating for a moment, he also placed several cuts of meat onto her plate, looking at her questioningly. She nodded her thanks, smiling softly. 

He grunts and turns to his meal, again silent, but she somehow knew he was watching. So she cut a piece of the (incredibly dry) beef roast and chewed it enthusiastically. His shoulders seem to relax after that and she blushes. 

“I think he likes you,” Sundrose teases lyrically in her ear. 

She suddenly wishes she’d warned Sundrose about werewolves hearing ahead of time. 

“Shhh,” she hissed. Sundrose merely chuckled mischievously. 

“What? It’s adorable. He’s like a giant puppy. If you want a dalliance I’m not the jealous type, darling.” 

“Fucks sake,” she whispered. “You’re a menace.” 

Sundrose winks and falls back into conversation with Vignar, leaving her to fight through her embarrassment alone. She dares a look at Farkas, noticing he is now observing Sundrose curiously. He turns to her, the same look in his eyes - like the wheels are turning and trying to piece together a puzzle. 

The rest of the meal flew by without anyone paying her much mind. No one drew her into a conversation so she simply ate her meal in peace as Farkas continually placed new tidbits of food on her plate and Sundrose made sure her goblet was constantly filled. The food itself was...well, she supposed it was edible. As a chef, however, it offended her sensibilities. The meat was overcooked and under seasoned. The vegetables were mush. The bread was hard as a rock. Not a single speck of salt or herbs flavored anything on the table. Gordon Ramsay would have shut this place down in a heartbeat. The only saving grace was the thick mead that was making her too buzzed to care overmuch. 

After a while, the table slowly began to clear as everyone went to finish their tasks for the evening before they found their beds. Elizabeth lingered back as Sundrose was still talking and she was reluctant to leave the comforting presence of Farkas. She did note that no one seemed to help the old woman as she cleaned up the dinner scraps, and she wondered if she’d offend by offering her services. Not that she’d be much help at the moment, but she could at least offer. She felt like an absolute deadweight right now. 

Just as she was considering going up to Tilma, Sundrose finally stood up with an exaggerated yawn. 

“Let us find our beds, little one.”

He reaches out and helps her from the bench, looping his arm around her waist as he leads her to the downstairs step, chattering the whole time about some places he wanted to visit. Elizabeth glanced behind her one last time before they started down the steps, meeting eyes with Farkas as he watched them walk away. 

****

It was perhaps an hour later that she finally admitted defeat. Her body was weary, yes, but she’d already had a six-hour nap today and any more sleep eluded her. 

Elizabeth sighed and slipped out of her bed, quietly hobbling out of the room. In the game, there had been plenty of bookcases scattered around the building. Perhaps she could borrow a few and pass the time that way. Fuck, did she miss having a television. 

She found a bookcase right across from her room, but she scowled when faced with the selection. All of them had to do with fighting and war, a few ironically about wolves. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” 

She jumped a little, whirling to find Farkas sitting in a comfortable looking chair in a corner of the hallway, his feet propped up on a stained and sanded log that she supposed stood for an ottoman. 

“No, slept too much already today,” she scoffed, finally noticing his hands. “Are you...knitting?” 

He paused, following the direction of her eyes to his hands. “Knitting?” He repeated the word like he was testing it out. “This is Nålbinding. Do you know it?” 

“I know knitting. Crocheting and quilting too. I like making things. I’ve never seen a needle like that before though. And I’ve never seen a man knit before, either.” 

He raises one eyebrow. “No men? Who makes their stockings when they are off to war then?  _ Bah _ . Common sense to do your own stitchery.” 

“So it is,” she grins, sitting in a nearby chair to watch. 

His fingers are quick and nimble despite their size, and she’s impressed as he crafts what appears to be thick and cozy-looking red socks. One of them is finished and sitting on the end table next to him, and the other is already ankle-length. He’s probably been working on these for a few hours. 

“Is he good in a fight?” he suddenly asks after nearly a half-hour of comfortable silence, his eyes still on his task. 

“Sundrose? I’ve never actually seen him fight, he’s usually very careful to keep me away from any. I do know that he’s quick and good with magic. Good luck if you need healing, though.” 

He scoffs at her joke, then clears his throat. She suddenly realizes that his hands have stopped moving. She’d been in such a trance watching him that she hadn’t even realized he’d finished. 

“Foot,” he grunts, waving a massive hand towards her. 

“What?” 

“Put your feet up in my lap.” 

Despite the gruff orders, she notices that he’s blushing. 

“Okay?” 

She does as he asks, laying her feet across his lap. She watches him curiously until he picks up one of her feet, gently cradling it in his hand while he begins tugging on one of the red wool socks. 

“Oh! You made these for me?” 

“These floors are cold. These will keep you until we can have shoes made,” he answers softly, refusing to meet her eyes. 

“Thank you, Farkas.” 

He nods and tugs on the other sock. “How do they feel? Warm enough?” 

She wiggles her toes and beams at him. “So warm! And not scratchy at all.” 

He grins softly at that. “I wash my wool in vinegar. If I don’t, it gives me skin spots and itches horribly. This is better.” 

She nods. “They are wonderful, Farkas. Thank you.” 

He glances at her shyly and nods, then thrusts his ball of wool and needle at her. “You can have the rest if you’d like.” 

“Thanks! I’m getting pretty restless not being able to do anything,” she huffs a laugh and quickly pulls her legs off of him to test them against the stone floors.  _ Toasty warm _ . 

He cocks his head thoughtfully. “We will be gone for at least three days. I’ll leave instructions with Tilma to bring you more wool.” 

“Thank you,” she smiled gratefully. She hated not being busy, so this was wonderful. 

He nods and stands up. “Good evening.” 

He’s halfway back to his room when she calls out. “Farkas?” 

He stops and turns back slightly to face her, raising an eyebrow. 

“Stay safe,” she says quietly, feeling her cheeks heat up. 

“I will,” he responds, just as softly, his lips tilted up with a pleased smile. 

She waits until he’s finally behind his bedroom door before she slumps into her seat and fans her face. What was it about him that made her feel and act like a kid in middle school dealing with their first crush? 

She shook her head and set to work.

****

By the time she began to hear the stirrings of people waking up, she’d nearly finished her project. There wasn’t a whole lot she could do with such a small amount of wool - not to mention her inexperience with the strange little needle - but she’d managed to make a decent-looking cabled hair wrap. Now she could keep her increasingly greasy hair off her face, at least. 

She tied her hair back with her creation, sighing in satisfaction as she felt marginally normal again. Perhaps she’d even be able to beg Tilma to tell her how she could wash up fully. 

Sundrose and Farkas eventually re-emerged from their respective rooms, obviously having agreed to meet up at a specific time. Although, how they could tell the time was still a mystery to her. 

“Alright, little one, we are off,” Sundrose announces, leaning down to peck the top of her head. “The Companions have assured me of your care and safety whilst I’m away,” he says loudly, clearly for the benefit of Farkas, then he pulls her to the side. 

“I left a bag of coins in the nightstand of your room. Feel free to use it and get some new clothes and any other sundries you need,” he pauses, looking at her nervously for a moment. “Did you have any odd dreams last night?” 

Elizabeth shakes her head. “I didn’t need to sleep again. I’ll probably nap later. Why?” 

He frowns slightly. “I had a strange dream. There was a man and he was in chains, and he was bloodied and bruised. Normally, when you try to talk in a dream you can’t, but I did. I asked who he was and he looked at me like I was a ghost. Suddenly, we both heard footsteps and he told me to run - that’s when I woke up,” he grimaced. “But it felt so  _ real _ . I could feel the damp air, smell the mold and rot in the room. I’ve never had a dream like that before.” 

“Astral projection, maybe? That exists here, right?” she says thoughtfully. 

“What is that, exactly?” 

“Uh, I’m not sure of the specifics. Everything I know is from a tv show...uh...a tale. But I guess it’s when your soul can travel apart from your body? I don’t know if you have to be asleep for it or not,” she shrugs. 

Sundrose hums, stroking his beard. “It’s a theory. The question is why would I travel to him specifically?” 

She had thoughts about that herself, but she needed to find a way to test their bond before she looked deeper into it. Instead, she shrugged. 

“We’ll think about it when you get back. For now, just travel safely and hurry back. I’ll be bored without you,” she chuckles, trying to lighten his mood. 

The compliment works and he preens. “Naturally. I’m a delight.” 

He waves and prances off, leaving her smiling. She turns to Farkas, who is still waiting in the hallway. 

He nods at her head. “That looks nice.” 

She grins and pats the headband. “Thanks. My hair was getting wild.” 

He hums and watches her. “Make sure to put more of Arcadia’s paste on your leg.” 

“I will,” she grins. “Anything else?” 

He scratches his head and shrugs. “Whiterun is a safe town if you need to work your legs.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Have a safe journey, Farkas.” 

He nods and starts for the stairs. “Farewell, Beth.” 

She freezes and watches him until his large form is hidden behind the door to the upper floor. 

She collapses into a nearby chair, the echo of his voice rumbling in her ear. That raspy tone murmuring out “ _ Beth _ ” like he had no clue what his voice did to her, let alone his voice saying such an intimate nickname. No one ever called her that. Everyone’s first choice if they shortened her name was ‘Liz’ or ‘Lizzie’, never Beth. She supposed where she came from it was considered old-fashioned. 

But here? Out of Farkas’ mouth? Without a single warning? 

She placed a hand to her chest, feeling the speed that her heart was thumping. This man was going to kill her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder who Sundrose could be dreaming about? *Whistles suspiciously*

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello on Tumblr or Twitter! I'm known as Varricmancer on both :)


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